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Monday, August 17, 2015

1st 5 Pages August Workshop - Shorrock Revision 2

Subject: Shorrocks Revision 1YA Gothic

“The most important tools of the magician are diversion and timing.” – Anonymous Victorian conman.

“Hold your breath when a black bird flies, count to seventeen and close your eyes.” – S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W – My Chemical RomanceYorkshire in winter can be a savage place, the moors particularly so. There’s no buffer to the wind that howls straight off the frozen rock, flinging snow and sleet at anyone unfortunate enough to find themselves outdoors, it will leave you fighting for breath in a matter of seconds. Only the adventurous or the stupid ever wandered outside at this time of year. I didn’t consider myself to be either. I just needed to get lost in that whiteness, to numb the weight of grief and betrayal that had shadowed me since my father’s death.

The path that ran beside the river seemed deserted, my boot prints in the snow the only evidence of life as I made my way up to the churchyard cemetery. I checked the windows of the old Vicarage, but the curtains remained safely closed. As the new girl in town, it wouldn’t do my reputation a lot of good to be found haunting the graves of long dead locals in my free time.

Someone had chosen to place the stone angel facing the wrath of the moor, forcing her to endure centuries of whatever the weather chose to throw in her direction. Her features had been erased over the years, as had the details of whoever she watched over. I crouched down and ran my hands over the grave’s cold face, as if the texture alone might give me some hint as to who was buried there.

It was the scent of my mother’s favourite perfume that first alerted me to the fact that I had been followed. The woman had always had the uncanny ability to sneak up on anyone in silence.

“Lil,” Her voice was wary, “What are you doing here?”

Out of the litany of low and bizarre acts she had committed over the past few weeks, for some reason trailing me around in secret seemed the most despicable. The sudden wave of anger even took me by surprise.

“Just go back to your precious house and leave me alone.”

She took at cautious step towards me, pulling her coat closer around her. “Listen to me.”

The thought that my behaviour may be starting to scare her was strangely satisfying. It evened the stakes between us.

“No, Ali.” She flinched slightly at my sudden use of her Christian name, “You try listening for once instead of turning away from everything and running.”

“I’m not running, Lil.”

When the police arrived on the afternoon of my seventeenth birthday to tell us that my father’s helicopter had crashed on the way back from one of his archaeological digs both of our worlds imploded. After that my mother couldn’t stand the pain of being around anything that reminded her of him and I couldn’t bear to let him go.

I blinked back the hot tears of frustration the seemed ever threatening these days, “What do you call selling up and moving to the other side of the country without even asking me if I was okay with that? What do you call him being buried half a day’s travel away so that I will never even get to visit his grave?”

“Necessary.”

“Right, unlike the need for me to be able to go through some normal sort of grieving process. It’s just easier to send me to a shrink.”

She turned away from me.

“Don’t bother walking again. I’ll save you the effort.” I stormed back the way I had come. This time she didn’t bother to follow.

It wasn’t until I passed by the huge evergreen oak by the side of the church that I noticed the third set of footprints in the snow. They stopped in its shadows and then returned back the way they had come, the way we all had come, along the riverside. Somewhere in the tree above me a bird flapped its wings.

It had been twenty-one days since we buried my father, three days since we came to Ilkley, and less than twenty-four hours since the crows had started arriving.

Three of the birds were perched on top of the old gable above the front door when I stumbled up the drive. They watched my approach, remaining silent but constantly shifting, as uneasy in my company as I was in theirs. A faint light seeped out between the curtains giving the only soft touch to the heavy Victorian stone. The houses in this part of the world had been built to keep wild weather and superstition out, and the living safely in. For the first time since our arrival I was glad of their pure bulk. I gave the crows one last look before I went inside, the wind slamming the door behind me.

The kitchen was the one room in the house my mother I had managed to stake out as our own so far. Gourmet cooking magazines and fashion catalogues were strewn across the bench next to her half empty glass of wine and my school timetable. A framed photo of the three of us I hadn’t seen in years had been propped up against one of the cupboard doors. It was taken at one of my father’s excavation sites, we were all splattered with mud and laughing at some long dead joke. I wondered where she had found it, and if the picture was what had triggered her to come looking for me.

Because she wasn’t there to stop me, I picked up her drink and carried it up to the sanctuary of my room. The tiny Juliette balcony outside was where the first of the crows had arrived, just on dusk the night before. In the silence of the, fog the commotion of wings had startled me. There was enough light left to make out the bird’s black form and the way it perched on the railing, one dark eye trained on my room and the other on the moor. I had gone downstairs and dug an old torch out from under the sink in the kitchen, checking on it at regular intervals during the night, but it never moved or showed any sign that it knew it was being watched. When I woke in the morning it was gone.

In the fading light I checked for footprints around the exterior of the house but there was no sign of whoever had followed us earlier. A single black feather had become stuck in the ice on the balcony railing. I eased it off and ran it against my cheek, walking back indoors.

15 comments:

I like the addition of the quotes, but I think having just one would be more powerful. If you went with the crow quote (my favorite of the two), then I think your "It had been twenty-one days since..." line would be the perfect opener to follow it.

Overall, I think your prose is much tighter. There's just a few places I stumbled as I read. Beginning with the line of dialogue, "Just go back to your precious house..." -- the next few lines are a little confusing. She tells her mom to go, then a few lines later, she tells her to stop running away. I know you're talking about the bigger picture with that line, but I had to stop and re-read to make sure I hadn't missed something. The missing speaker tag for the mother might have had something to do with it. Tacking her line on the end like that with no follow up is a little jarring.

You also start to lose me a little in the last two paragraphs. There's some unnecessary detail that complicates my understanding of space and time (her picking up the drink, her going downstairs for a torch) that are distracting. Also, I would change the passive "had" there and the one in reference to the feather to something more active.

I think the extra set of footprints helped to add to the creepy suspense factor that you've set with the cemetery, crows, and other cues. Even before I'd read Erin's comments I thought the same thing about cutting it down to just one quote. You've done a great job at painting a picture of the setting for me, and I definitely like this version quite a bit. I'd like to find out what happens to Lil and her mum!

First of all, I think Erin's insights are spot-on and had many of the same things in my initial notes.

First paragraph is great - got into the setting immediately. This opening section does a great job of showing who the character is, one of her problems, and adds suspense. Who was following them? What is up with those birds?

Really like the structure of "It had been twenty-one days since we buried my father, three days since we came to Ilkley, and less than twenty-four hours since the crows had started arriving."

You still need to do some tight copyediting on this. There are misplaced (and missing) commas and some word choice errors. Really take your time going through the entire manuscript or find a beta reader who has really strong grammar skills.

"The kitchen was the one room in the house my mother I had managed to stake out as our own so far." I think you forgot a word here.

These pages make me interested and I would want to read more if it was a little more polished.

I thoroughly loved the bit about the angel. I really love the mood you've accomplished with these pages. I'm addicted to pop culture and I love the MCR quote and it helped the mood. I would like if the "it's been twenty-one days.." bit came after the quotes. I'm fine with both of the quotes especially since it leads the story a bit.

Hello Helen! This has gotten to a really nice place. Terrific work. I agree with Caitie, as I mentioned in your first posting, you need to pay careful attention to the copy editing side of this — and I’m not just saying this because this is my trade! ;). It's the overall impression you present to an agent and it matters. Especially when it causes confusion. Like here:

“It wasn’t until I passed by the huge evergreen oak by the side of the church that I noticed the third set of footprints in the snow. They stopped in its [WHAT IS “ITS” HERE? FOOTSTEPS ARE PLURAL SO IF THAT’S WHAT YOU MEAN, IT’D BE “THEIR” OR DO YOU MAN THE TREE? YOU NEED TO SAY THE TREE THEN AS IT’S UNCLEAR] shadows and then returned back the way they had come, the way we all had come, along the riverside. Somewhere in the tree above me a bird flapped its wings.

For the opening, I am still loving the "it's been xx days" line and think that's your strongest in here. Starting with it would really make someone pay attention. I even think you can start there and still transition into what you have. But if you don't want to, that's your right of course!

While I really like the opening paragraph, I'd suggest some tweaks to make the first line pop if you don't opt to change the line. Just want that first line to be a zinger.

“Only the adventurous or the stupid ever wandered outside in Yorkshire at this time of year. I didn’t consider myself to be either. I just needed to get lost in that whiteness, to numb the weight of grief and betrayal that had shadowed me since my father’s death.

Yorkshire in winter is [CHANGED FROM “CAN BE” BECAUSE IT’S STRONGER AND MORE POWERFUL TO SAY IT “IS” THIS] a savage place, the moors particularly so. There’s no buffer to the wind that howls straight off the frozen rock, flinging snow and sleet at anyone unfortunate enough to find themselves outdoors. It leaves [CHANGE FROM IT WILL LEAVE” FOR EFFICIENCY] you fighting for breath in a matter of seconds.”

I like seeing her back at home and sneaking the drink. Instant personality is drawn.

I’m not sure about ending with “what are you?” Is it to spot on that this is something more than a bird? Just something to consider.

I agree there is something off about the interaction with her mom but for me it wasn’t the dialogue that was there but more that she says her mom doesn’t follow her but if she’s going back home, then where is mom going?

Overall I think this is really in good shape. Get that copy editing stuff down, think trim and efficiency everywhere (see how I changed above) and maybe a detail or two here or there (like where the excavation is — could add more flavor). Use every spot and take every chance to show us more. This is some great work—congrats! And thank you for letting us be a part of this journey!

I've already told you how much I like this story and your voice in particular, so now I'm just going to point out a few small things that make me stumble a bit when reading.

How about Yorkshire in winter is a savage place? I think "is" is stronger than "can be."***I feel as if you need something stronger than a comma in the following sentence. (Preferably a period because semicolons are dumb.)

There’s no buffer to the wind that howls straight off the frozen rock, flinging snow and sleet at anyone unfortunate enough to find themselves outdoors (period or semicolon here) it will leave you fighting for breath in a matter of seconds.***

The paragraph that describes her father's death might be better served elsewhere. It breaks up the tension and dialogue when her mother comes upon her. Perhaps you can put it after the encounter here:

It had been twenty-one days since we buried my father, three days since we came to Ilkley, and less than twenty-four hours since the crows had started arriving. When the police arrived on the afternoon of my seventeenth birthday to tell us that my father’s helicopter had crashed…***

Think about rephrasing the sentence below. I know you're talking about the crow, but the way it’s written now “checking on it,” sounds like she was checking the torch.

I had gone downstairs and dug an old torch out from under the sink in the kitchen, checking on it at regular intervals during the night, but it never moved or showed any sign that it knew it was being watched.

I think you're a really good writer, Helen. All you need is a good crit partner to help root out a few weak spots. You have a great voice and rhythm to your writing.

Helen, this is so much stronger and smoother. I love the footprints, and the lovely creepiness of that image could be heightened just a wee bit more to make it more clearly ominous. I'd also suggest making the crows a little clearer and smoother, and bring that in at the cemetery. Perhaps a simile with the footsteps following her the way the crows have been or something?

Go over and over this to make sure it's tight and clean, and I think you've got it! : )

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